


A Worthy Collection

by LaLopez1981



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 1883 photoshoot, Alternate Universe - Human, Avengers AU, M/M, Model Loki, PWP, Photographer Tony, Porn With Plot, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLopez1981/pseuds/LaLopez1981
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a random prompt on tumblr (http://frost-iron.tumblr.com/post/52355870207/pwp-prompt)...</p><p>Model!Loki and Photographer!Tony inspired by the 1883 Hiddles photo shoot.</p><p>Apologies, because it has a little more plot than intended. I really have no idea where this all comes from...</p><p>XOXO, LaLa</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Worthy Collection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyKraken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyKraken/gifts), [Incubigirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incubigirl/gifts).



Tony Stark was a genius with a camera. And he proved it time and again with spreads in every magazine from _Rolling Stone_ to _Vanity Fair_ , _Harper's Bazaar_ to _Vogue_.

His fascination with photography started at the tender age of ten, when he went snooping in one of the abandoned rooms in his father’s mansion and found an old camera; a 72mm Kodak Duaflex II from 1957, to be exact. His curiosity of how things worked had already been established by that time, as he spent the free time he had—a lot of it since he was often left in the care of a nanny—taking things apart and putting them back together again. The toaster, a clock radio, and to his father’s chagrin, the telephone in his office. So it was just another object to tinker with until he figured out what it did, how it worked, and what he could do with it.

Once he had, he carried the camera with him everywhere. When he was older, an adult, he would be grateful to his younger self, for pestering everyone to pose or let him stick his camera in their face. For he took thousands of snapshots of his mother, mostly from afar, before she passed away suddenly when he was fifteen. He had albums full of her, tucked away in a secret place in his bedroom—eternally young, forever beautiful.

Dad wasn’t as enthused about his “hobby,” as he so derisively called it, as Mom had been. The older Stark preferred he focused on business and learning the ropes of running the company he would one day inherit. But Tony was too fascinated with the way sunlight hit his high school girlfriend’s strawberry blonde hair at sunset or capturing a shared look between a long-married elderly couple to care about his father’s business.

Despite his father’s numerous threats to cut him off, Tony didn’t stop with his photography, studying it through college and eventually parlaying his talent behind the lens into, first, a few apprenticeships under some of the top photographers in the business—ranging from a war photojournalist, a studio portrait photographer, and a fashion photographer—then onto a successful career that took him to places around the world he had only ever read about.

He had photographed top models, diplomats, political dignitaries, and, of course, where the real money was, celebrities. Make a famous matinee idol or the most current pop starlet look especially good in one spread, and suddenly, you were getting invited to all the parties, all the events, and sharing a bed—or chair, table, wall, backseat of a limo—with some of the most beautiful women, and occasionally men, in the world.

Today, he was shooting a male model; a hot, young, fresh little thing from somewhere out of Europe or somewhere that had fashion magazines on every continent clamoring for a cover shot. This model was the hottest property for designers since Mark Wahlberg dropped his jeans to show off his Calvin Klein underwear. And his management team—clearly, doing their job and doing it well—wanted the one and only Tony Stark to shoot his very first cover for _Vogue Italia_.

Tony was busy with his assistants checking the lighting and making sure each room they would be using for a set in the empty apartment—in a building his father owned, no less, but Tony wasn't willing to share—were ready to be shot, double checking everything because he was that much of a perfectionist. He had yet to meet the model yet, who was occupied in another room with the wardrobe and makeup people.

So when he looked up and saw a six-foot-plus, raven-haired god walk through the doorway for the first shot and headed straight for him for introductions, he had to remind himself to breathe normally. Immediately, he could see the big deal about this one. His name was Loki, he learned. Just Loki. Like Cher or Madonna, he had only one name. Tony briefly explained what his vision was for each shot and, clad in a pair of skin-tight white Dries Van Noten leggings, a black Dolce & Gabbana vest, and his feet bare, Loki hopped up onto a set of banged up lockers and the photo shoot was underway.

Most of the people Tony had worked with turned out to be a bunch of blowhards—boring personalities pumped up by their own hype who generally gave him nothing. But he was so good he made even the blandest person look like a rock star. And a good portion of his subjects felt if they slipped him a gram of coke, a bag of weed, or provided him a good time—whether with their own body or the best money could buy—that he would make them look “extra” special. But, again, Tony needed no such encouragement. If he put his name on something, it would always be the best.

But this one—this one was different. Loki’s face, smooth and pale, with the sharp cheekbones of a Grecian deity, hardly needed makeup. No matter where he looked—with piercing sea green eyes, no less—the light found him. Up, down, to the side, straight on into the lens, he made love to the camera. And the camera in turn, wielded by an expert, fucked him raw, right up against the wall.

Tony chuckled to himself behind the lens; he may have been projecting that last thought himself. Luckily, Loki was busy entertaining everyone, dancing and spinning around to the music someone was loudly playing somewhere in another room, now in gray Giorgio Armani trousers, a gray and black patterned Jil Sander shirt under a charcoal Armani blazer, and shooting heated gazes and toothy grins from under a black Borsalino hat.

Tony was finding it incredibly easy to shoot this long-legged, translucent Adonis as he combed slim fingers through those inky black strands, and sat cross-legged on the floor now; not an easy feat in extremely form-fitting Diesel jeans and a blue plaid Louis Vuitton shirt. Occasionally, he would flick up those entrancing green eyes to look, it felt, right through the lens and into Tony’s soul. But he was also finding it increasingly difficult to hide the growing arousal trapped, almost painfully, in his own tight dark jeans.

And, _fuck_ ; now they were setting up for the bathtub set.

Tony stepped away, taking more than a long minute to switch cameras while an assistant got Loki fixed in the tub, now dressed in a plain white Vuitton shirt and black shorts, and set up a ladder at one end of the tub. Eventually, Tony would get him at face level, but he wanted a few shots from above, to get the full body shot in the tub in the frame. Vaguely, listening to the conversation between Loki and the stylist—and _Jesus fuck_ , even his voice was sexy—he overheard the two discussing accessories. Tony turned and looked their way with the intention of telling them no accessories; that was not what he had envisioned. But then he saw the black boots and the rounded dark glasses and closed his mouth. It actually worked.

Taking hold of his camera, Tony entered the room and watched Loki get into the tub, twist the knob to get the water running and caught a few candid shots of him laughing and splashing water around and over his head. He seemed to really be enjoying himself, so Tony crouched and started getting shots of him, calling to him every few shutters to get him to look at the camera.

At one point, Loki crossed his arms over the lip of the tub and set that striking gaze on the camera, over the top of the sunglasses, and mock-frowned. It made Tony lift his face from behind the camera and smile. Loki held his gaze a little bit longer, and Tony could feel the heat rise in his cheeks; his lip twitched minutely—or maybe Tony imagined it—before he pushed the glasses back up onto his nose.

After Loki was thoroughly drenched from dousing himself with handfuls of water, sputtering a little, rubbing excess drops from his eyes and flipping thick, drenched locks of hair from his face, Tony climbed up the ladder and started taking high-angled shots, while Loki stretched out in the tub, resting his feet on the edge of it, crossing them at the ankles.

Once again, Loki didn’t have to do very much. Modeling was not an easy job, as most people believed. One had to know what angles of the face and body worked best; to know what expression to convey, how to twist the body to do the same. It wasn’t just sitting and smiling at the camera. But Loki made it look that simple. A flip of the eyes, a twitch of his lips, a slight tilt of his head; every shot was a worthy shot for Tony.

But the tub shots were just about to do him in. And he got the feeling Loki knew it. Loki was giving him sexual, sensual; he tore of the glasses, letting them dangle from his lips teasingly, and set those sea green—hmm, no; through the zoomed lens Tony could see they had darkened to a more emerald green now—and he set them directly on him.

Tony’s heart started to beat a little faster. His jeans felt a little tighter. And, damn it, if his throat didn’t go dry when Loki’s lips hitched up a little on one side and he winked.

“Okay, that’s a wrap!” Tony breathed out and quickly handed off his camera to his nearest assistant as he jumped off the ladder. The few people milling around the rooms offered a measly applause, as Tony’s assistant went about packing up his equipment, and the man in the flashy suit with a cell phone attached to his ear, who he assumed was Loki’s manager, zoomed straight to the model, still lounging back in the tub.

Tony eyed the man as he spoke quietly to Loki, laying a hand over his cell phone, and stepped over to the table where his assistant was efficiently cleaning the last camera he used. “Hey, Jarv, did we bring the smaller digital Canon?”

“Yes, sir,” his tall, gangly assistant responded in his posh British accent. “Did you want me to take it out? You called for wrap.”

“I got another project I want to do.” He caught the questioning furrow of the blonde’s brow. “Alone, Jarvis. Don’t worry about it. Get these sorted, would you? And send them over to me by tonight and I’ll go through them tomorrow. Once you get all that done,” he laid a hand on the taller man’s shoulder, “take the night off.”

Jarvis smiled, his blue eyes glinting. “Yes, sir.”

“And stop calling me sir.” Tony uttered the demand through a chuckle, his focus on Loki, by himself now, but still in the tub, drying his hair with a towel provided for him. “Talk to you later,” he mumbled to Jarvis, already halfway to the tub. “Hey.”

Loki didn’t pause in his towel-drying. So Tony lowered to a squat, resting his arms on the lip of the tub, and cleared his throat.

“…Hey.”

“I heard you the first time.” The response was muddled behind the towel. He tugged it over his head and flipped his damp hair back, smirking at the other man. “That is not the most original way to catch someone’s attention, you know.”

“Heh. I know. Listen, can you stick around for a bit?”

The way the model looked at him, his eyes unwavering and boring into Tony, made the photographer nervous—which was a very foreign feeling. “For what?” he asked as he ran the towel up and down one arm then the other.

It took Tony a few long moments to let a rush of heat subside. “Just to take some quick digital shots to send back to the magazine tonight,” he answered in the worst lie ever. He held his breath a moment waiting for Loki’s response.

“I’m not sure my manager can wait…”

“I can get you wherever you need to be…later.” He hoped the hint was subtle, but to his own ears it sounded obvious. He watched Loki’s face, searching for a hint of some reaction, any reaction, and swallowed when those green eyes traveled down, along the length of his arms, then slowly back up to his face, pausing for the briefest of moments on his lips. He grinned, knew he got him, when Loki absently licked his own lips.

“Just let me speak to my manager…?”

“Yeah. Tell you what. Dry off, get changed, I’ll meet you on the top floor.” Tony slapped a palm to the tub, straightened, and walked away with the strut of a proud man.

* * *

“Philip,” Loki called in his soft, but gruff voice.

His manager, looking as sleazy as ever, swaggered over. The damn phone was still attached to his ear. “What can I do for you, doll?” He squatted next to the tub, much like Tony had, and tipped down his three hundred dollar sunglasses.

“Stop calling me ‘doll,’ for one thing. I have a name. Use it.” Loki rubbed the black towel he had been handed along his legs. He would very much like to change. The wet shorts were starting to sag and make him feel very uncomfortable in places that he didn’t know he could feel uncomfortable.

“Sure thing, _Loki_ ,” Phil answered with the same impassive expression he always had.

“Is my evening free?”

“Uh, well, mostly, yeah. You’re expected at Balthazar’s in…” he checked his diamond Rolex. “…About an hour, for dinner with Clint.”

“Cancel it,” Loki said bluntly as he stood, water cascading down his legs again. _Damn it_ , he thought and lifted one slim leg to dry again.

“Why?”

“I don’t feel like posing with a fellow model to get my name in the gossip columns.”

“But he’s with Calvin Klein, Loki. He can get you in.”

“I don’t want to ‘be in,’ with them. Cancel it and leave. I want a night free of…any of this.” He turned and lifted a leg to step out of the tub and Phil immediately took his arm and helped him out.

“Loki…”

“Don’t argue with me. You’re making enough money off of me to pay for your mistress’ apartment in SoHo, the least you can do is give me one night off.” Loki didn’t speak very loudly, and there weren’t many people left in the room, but still Phil tugged on his arm sharply, unknowingly getting his expensive suit wet.

“Hey, you said you didn’t know about that,” he said in undertones.

“I say a lot of things, Philip,” he replied with a smile. “And this is the last thing I’m going to say to you tonight: goodbye.” He smirked at Phil’s dark scowl, patting his cheek just to piss him off that much more and walked out of the room toward the wardrobe area.

He asked for the clothes he had come to the shoot in—worn jeans and a thin t-shirt with an even more worn hoodie—and was handed the items along with one of the sets of clothes he wore for the shoot. After a brief, but friendly argument, about him not wanting to take advantage, the pants and jacket were practically forced into his arms, and he could do nothing but take them and thank them gratefully.

Loki had come a long way in the past ten years. Family life, he found, didn’t suit him, so at sixteen he left the home in northern England he had grown up in, for school one day and never returned. Considering his family didn’t put in much of an effort to find him, he figured it was a mutual distaste. He had saved enough money to fly to New York and lived on the streets for a while, stealing food from small markets and back alleys when he couldn’t make it to the missions. He was proud of the fact that, as many times as he received the offers, he never whored himself out for food or shelter. If he couldn’t steal it, he might pick a pocket or two, and buy it. And if he felt like he did need a little affection, the underground clubs were a great place to find a one-nighter, or a weekender, if things went his way.

It was in one of those dingy, dark clubs that he got his first job. Dancing in a box on a stage. It wasn’t much but it gave him a weekly check and an apartment to share with three of the other dancers. Turned out, the dancing-in-a-box crowd was competitive and every bit as dangerous as school had been. Loki was always caught in the middle of things: between his father and his brother, between his parents and the school, between the bullies that kicked his ass every few weeks for messing with their girls or their grades and the bullies that still kicked his ass but wanted to make-out with him under the bleachers.

He wasn’t gay; he wasn’t straight. He just was. And he could never figure out why this was such a problem for people to understand. And it caused issues with the dancers who made money on the side offering a blowjob or two, or more, for a few extra bucks or, even better, a job as an extra in the john’s next movie.

Producers, directors, actors, everyone came to the clubs to indulge. Loki lost count of the publicly straight, but privately gay celebrities he had seen in the backrooms of the club. He didn’t even care. Mostly he pitied them for not being able to live as freely as he did.

When he was twenty-two, everything changed in the course of a week. A man had come in to the clubs with an entourage, looking for a good time and a way to waste his money. He had parked himself on a couch near Loki’s box and watched him dance all night. Loki wasn’t stupid; he’d been given the eye by men and women alike all his life, but he never messed around with anyone who came into the club. The man came in with his entourage every night for three nights and on the fourth, he came in alone, and tried all night to pull Loki aside.

Loki avoided him until he left for the night. The man was waiting outside the doors in a black, chauffeur-driven sedan. He was a talent scout, he told Loki, looking for the next big thing in modeling. And he thought Loki was it. Two days later, Loki quit his job at the club and was on a plane to Mexico to be a background model in a cologne advertisement. And he hadn’t stopped since.

The past four years had been a whirlwind; Loki couldn’t recount the exotic places he had been to if his life depended on it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he sat down and ate a real meal. It started off with group shots here and there, but he quickly started to garner more high profile shoots and even stole the thunder from top male models—even one Clint Barton—that he was meant to be a background scenery for. He had been walking in shows every season for major labels, appeared in a few of those model competition television shows as pure eye candy, and was now suddenly being asked to be on the cover of one of the best-selling _women’s_ fashion magazines on the market.

The fact that the photographer for the shoot was _the_ Tony Stark was just the icing on an already very delicious cake.

Loki had been looking forward to meeting the famed photographer since he heard he had booked the shoot. He had already worked with some of the top photographers—Annie Leibovitz, David LaChapelle, and Nigel Barker, to name a few—but he had yet to meet the best in the business.

Of course, he had heard all the praise…he’s a genius, he’s a playboy, he’s magic with a camera. And the other side: he’s a pretentious asshole, he’ll sleep with anything; he smells like a winery.

It was true rumors of his drinking habit getting out of hand ran rampant, but in this business gossip always tended to be overblown even while rooted in truth. Philip, his ever-harried manager, was always berating him for reading about his best client seen doing this or that with this pop singer or that closeted actor. Loki always shrugged it off. He kept to himself, rarely bedded a well-known persona, and never touched the unending supply of drugs offered to him.

He didn’t need to be in an altered state to enjoy himself. Though a puff of marijuana never hurt anyone. And there was that one time a famous producer slipped some ecstasy into his drink when he wasn’t looking. Philip had had fun fighting off the gossipmongers with that one, especially since someone captured his impromptu table dance at a twenty-four hour McDonald’s restaurant. Oops.

He said goodbye to the wardrobe and makeup people, shooed Philip away one last time, and once alone, dried off some more and slipped on the black Versace trousers and the black, gold studded leather jacket, also Versace. He finger-combed his jet black hair back from his face and left his things near the door before making his way to the top floor.

The stairs creaked eerily, and he wondered for a moment if Tony had left with everyone else. But then he heard the muffled sounds of music, sounded like heavy metal, and continued up. He didn’t know why he was doing this. He knew perfectly well Tony didn’t need any more shots. This was a way to get him alone. Normally, he would object. Tony wasn’t the first photographer to try to get him to do a “private” shoot or even to try and bed him.

But considering the way the two of them were dancing around each other the entire shoot, the flirtatious glances they sent each other’s way, this shouldn’t surprise anyone who was in the general vicinity of the two of them all day.

“Stark.”

Tony was in a corner of the room, sparse but for a table, a Japanese-style partition, and a backless, legless lounge in the middle of it. He looked up from his iPod, stopping the music and picking up his camera. “Come in.” His eyes dropped, taking in Loki’s clothes, and grinned. “They give those to you?”

“I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re inferring.”

His grin widened. “I wasn’t.” He glanced down at the camera, flicked a button and raised it to his eye. Because of the red light shining bright above the lens, Loki knew he was recording.

Almost ignoring him, he leaned against the doorjamb, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks. In his peripheral vision, he saw Tony crouch before him, angling the camera up and when he lowered his emerald gaze to him, the photographer’s lips curved. “Do you often do this?”

“Do what?” He moved around a little, catching Loki on all sides, before standing again.

Loki fixed him with a blunt look. “Intimate photo shoots.”

He dropped the camera, still half-smiling. “Have I done it before? Yes. Have I done it recently? No.”

Loki looked directly into the lens when he lifted the camera again. This time he heard the shutter click. “Should I feel honored then?” Haughtily, Loki looked away and moved toward the lone window in the room, knowing Tony would follow him.

“If you want to,” the photographer answered absently, concentrating on zooming and focusing on the face he tried to capture.

Loki worked his jaw, knowing full well how attractive it looked against the sharpness of his high cheekbones. Never once looking at the camera, he ran his fingers through his hair. He frowned; his hair felt a little greasy from the leftover product and impromptu shower.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the most magnificent face? It’s like it was made to be photographed.”

He gave a slight roll of his eyes and looked directly into the camera again. “I am a model, Stark. I’ve been told that several times over the past four years.” He straightened and started forward, making Tony moved back.

“Wait, wait—hold that, right there.” He kept snapping even as Loki kept walking forward. Loki reached for the camera, plucking it from Tony’s hands. “Hey—”

“Enough, Stark.” He cupped the photographer’s chin when he started to reach for the camera, forcing him to look up into Loki’s eyes. “No more stalling.”

Tony grunted softly when Loki planted his mouth on his. He pressed in firmly until he felt Tony start to soften. He reached around him to set the camera down on the rackety table behind him then pulled Tony’s body to his, moving them both toward the lounge, dragging his t-shirt up over his head along the way. He scowled at the one beneath it.

“What? It’s a long-sleeve—‘cause of the cold—never mind.” Tony took it off himself, reaching out to curl his fingers into the lapels of the leather jacket and pulled Loki to him.

Loki moaned into the kiss as Tony undid the buckles and unzipped the jacket, and moaned again as he slipped his hands beneath it to find nothing but skin.

“Damn…” he sighed appreciatively after shoving it off of Loki’s shoulders.

Loki pulled it from his arms, tossing it aside once he had, as Tony’s fingers trailed down to his pants, undoing them quickly and efficiently as they both attempted to kick off their shoes. He smirked when Tony went still after his pants fell, his cock standing at attention. He stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and reached for Tony.

“You don’t—ha. Got something against underwear?” Tony quipped as he willingly followed.

Loki cupped his hand at the back of his head and pulled him into a rough, wet kiss. “Mmm…they tend to get in the way.”

Tony chuckled breathlessly, his swollen lips curved in a crooked grin. “I guess—oh.” He fell down to the lounge at Loki’s push, but the model didn’t join him yet, instead reaching for the band of his jeans and boxers to tug them off.

Loki sighed mock-irritably when the boxers stalled around his thighs. “See? Troublesome.” The photographer laughed and pushed them down, kicking up his legs to help expedite their removal. Once he was naked, Loki laid himself over his slim, compact body, rubbing himself shamelessly against him, and capturing his lips once more. He had nice lips, Loki thought. Full and soft in contrast to the rough scratch of his goatee, and a wickedly thick tongue that was making him moan and rut against him a little harder as Tony used it on his ear, neck and—oh, gods, now he was using his teeth. “Mmm, yes, bite me, Stark…”

“Tony,” he breathed into Loki’s heated skin.

“ _Uhhhn_ …what?”

Tony pulled his face back so he could look at him. “Call me Tony.”

Loki didn’t get the chance to say anything as Tony pulled him in for another kiss. He let him use his mouth as he pleased for a moment before lifting up and sliding down the shorter body. He pushed apart his thighs and dipped his head to lick a long trail from base to tip, chuckling darkly and smugly when Tony’s hip bucked.

“Ohh, shit…”

“Mmm…” Loki busied himself sucking and licking at Tony’s balls while he stroked him to full hardness. He hummed against him, sending vibrations all through his already throbbing cock, when he felt Tony’s fingers in his hair, tugging intermittently as his head bobbed up and down.

“Oh, fuck…!”

“Eheh…” Loki chuckled, and sat up to straddle him, taking both of their cocks in one hand. “Enjoy that, did you?”

“Best head I’ve gotten in a long time,” he breathed out heavily. Loki smirked down at him, rolling his hips against his, stroking them both simultaneously.

“Best you’ll ever get,” he corrected.

Tony grinned up at him, palming his narrow hips, moving him a little faster over his cock. He started to respond, but Loki cut him off, brushing his fingers over his lips before pushing his two middle fingers past them and Tony obediently started to suck on them, using his tongue to coat them with saliva.

Loki's eyes rolled closed on a soft moan. He slapped one hand to one of Tony’s on his hip and stilled. “Don’t rush it.” He ignored Tony’s feigned hurt look and pulled his fingers from his mouth with a loud echoing ‘pop,’ then reached around and rubbed the slicked up fingers around his entrance before pushing one inside himself. “Mmmnh…”

Tony ran his hands over his pale flesh, up his torso to his shoulders and down his arms, then over his hips and down his thighs. His skin was soft yet firm and virtually hairless. He was lean but toned and his muscles quivered now under Tony’s fingers and from preparing himself, grunting softly as he inserted another finger.

Panting now, Loki glanced down at their leaking cocks, taking just Tony’s in his hand and lifted up on his knees, shifting until Tony’s cock is lined up with his entrance and slowly lowered himself. “Ssss…unh…”

Tony bit his lip and groaned. “Jesus Christ…fuck, that’s tight.”

Loki dropped his head down, his hands pressing into Tony’s chest, until he was fully seated. “Ohh…” He flicked his heated gaze up to Tony’s. “Stop your jabbering and fuck me.”

Tony smiled and grabbed hold of his hips once more, and thrust up once, hard, making him cry out sharply. “Good?”

“Ah! I don’t remember telling you to stop.” Loki planted his hands on either side of Tony’s head and started moving against him, fast and hard and unrelenting.

“F-fuck! Yes! Fucking ride that cock, Loki!”

“Mmm, yes! Gods, yes!” He threw his head back, moaning loudly with every thrust. He leaned back, bending his legs, setting his feet flat on either side of Tony’s body, bouncing on his cock. A delighted smirk curved his lips as he reached down with one hand to stroke himself, balancing himself on his other hand. “Mnh, harder, Tony!”

Tony grunted and groaned with the effort of trying to move his hips at a faster pace. Finally, he sat up; pushed Loki onto his back, keeping his legs bent about him, hooked his arms around them, and started pounding into the model.

“Fuck! Oh, my gods! Yes, yes! Just like that! Oh…oh…ohhh…!”

Sweat dripping from his face and chest, muscles straining, burning from the unexpected workout, Tony fucked into Loki harder than he could ever remember doing before, smiling darkly at every scream and moan he pulled from the model, who had been relatively quiet through most of the day. “You like this, don’t you? Being fucked hard like this?”

“Yes! Fuck…harder…!”

Tony pulled back onto his knees, dropping Loki’s legs and spreading them wide before grabbing hold of his hips. He gave a slight jerk to them, tilting them up, putting himself at a different angle as he slipped inside him again. And Loki went wild.

“Oh, gods! Right there, right there! _FUCK YES_!”

Later, Loki would think of his reaction as Tony’s cock repeatedly hit his prostate and he would blush. But right now…right now, he relished in it. His body trembled with each touch, his gasps and moans caught in his throat, choked out in broken bits as he clawed at the man above him, dragging him down and lifting to meet his mouth in sloppy, bruising kisses that were hardly kisses; just a brash meeting of lips, tongues and teeth.

He could feel his release coming close and rocked hard into Tony’s cock, urging it to come faster, and when it did, he cried out long and loud. His come landed in hot, quick spurts on his belly. He only vaguely felt Tony pull out. The photographer was a blur, stroking himself until he came, his body jerking over Loki’s as he shot his load to land among Loki’s.

He felt Tony’s fingers rubbing his skin, mixing and blending their releases. Through half-lidded eyes, Loki watched him lick some from his fingers before wiping it over Loki’s slack mouth. He parted his lips more, humming in pleasure as he tasted them both. His green eyes were still narrowed slits when he looked up again because the weight of Tony’s body was suddenly gone. He dropped his head back to one of the throw pillows on the lounge in exhaustion, lackadaisically wiping up the wetness left over on his stomach and reaching for his softening cock, lazily stroking it a few times before letting it fall against him.

He had been relaxing there but a few seconds before he heard the shutter of a camera and lifted his head. His vision was a little clearer now and he scowled at Tony. “What are you doing?”

“What does it sound like?” Tony moved around, snapping different angles of Loki’s thoroughly used body. The model grunted weakly and closed his eyes again, his head rolling to the side.

“I do not remember giving you permission to do that. Do you have any idea how much I charge for nude photos?”

Tony chuckled. “Bill me. Besides, you’re not really in any condition to stop me.” Loki weakly swiped at him, but he easily sidestepped him. “No worries, gorgeous. These are for my private collection.”

Loki scoffed at that and managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, resting his arms on his knees. “And what number am I in this _private collection_? I would imagine somewhere in the triple digits since you have been at this for almost twenty years.”

Tony stopped and lowered the camera then himself to his knees before Loki. “You really wanna know the answer to that?”

Loki stretched out his legs on either side of Tony, angling his head, a piece of damp black hair falling over his face. “Do I?”

Tony brushed the hair back and kissed him. Loki was expecting a soft kiss and a surprised noise sounded in his throat at the aggressiveness of Tony’s lips and thrusting of his tongue into his mouth. Tony broke the kiss and moved his mouth over his jaw to his ear. “One.”

Loki opened his eyes, looking around confused. “One? One what? One hundred? One thousand?”

Tony moved back, and with his eyes on Loki’s, reached down between his open legs and started to stroke him. Loki felt himself grow hard instantly, moaning lowly with it. “Just one.”

Loki wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressing his mouth to his neck, and gently took the camera from his hand, careful not to drop it. He pulled away and set the camera on top of one of the red square pillows, aimed at the lounge, and flicked the button to recording mode, before turning back to Tony.

He looked at the camera then Loki, confused. “What are you doing?”

Loki smirked and slipped his fingers into the dark hair at the back of the photographer’s head. He leaned closer and slowly ran his tongue along his parted lips. “Making it a worthy collection.”

Tony glanced at the camera, smiled, and let Loki pull him down to the lounge once more.


End file.
